Mighty on the Earth
by Aishuu
Summary: Once upon a time, Kurapica lived in happiness with his people. Life among the Kurata tribe, and their doom.
1. Chapter 1

**Mighty on the Earth**  
_by aishuu_

* * *

_Part 1_:

He often dreamed of the land outside Rukuso Valley, a place where machines flew and the lights came on as though by magic. He had heard of electricity and motorized vehicles, but had never seen them before, so had a hard time picturing how they would work. Companies refused to install service for such a small, distant settlement with little to trade.

Their main exports were their crafts, the careful skill of their jewel carvers legendary in the lands beyond. They were a tribe that prized beauty in all things, and even their ordinary household items showed that. There was a potter and two weavers who were both highly respected, with people offering them hearth welcoming at the slimmest excuse. The attention to detail they put into their crafts elevated the common to works of art.

Kurapika's own mother wore a pair of fine silver earrings which she had made. They swung gracefully whenever she moved her head. He remembered, as a child, spending hours watching her, entranced by her natural grace and beauty. Zaltana always wore her long hair unbound, unlike the other married women of their tribe. It was her vanity, she would joke, getting the better of her common sense.

The Kurata were a practical people at heart, eschewing the need for personal wealth. What one Kurata had, they all had. When one was happy, they all were. If one mourned, the others did as well. It was a simple, communal existence, but most were content with that. He certainly was.

When he turned fifteen, he knew, he would be sent on an _eamemeohe_, a trip to see the outside world by going to the nearest school in a village a week away. For a year, he would live like an outsider, and have machines do his work for him and idle the day away as he learned how outsiders lived. At the end the village elders would be offer a choice between returning home or following this new path, through a world of wonders.

All had come back. He was pretty sure he would as well, since he loved his people and his life, but he couldn't deny looking forward to that year of freedom, when he would discover what the rest of the world lived like. He wasn't the smartest or most talented of the Kurata, but he had an insatiable curiosity. It was a while away, anyway, and he tried not to think about it too often. There was always work to be done, and idle dreams had no place in a subsistence life.

His father was the tribe's historian, well-versed in the oral histories and songs of the Kurata. He was the one who taught the tribe's children to read and write, and oversaw their education. There was no one quicker with a song or a joke than Anoke, and Kurapika knew that someday he would take on his father's job.

They spent a lot of time together, and Kurapika was getting the best education possible. He had a good ear for music, and his father had hopes his voice would break into a pleasant tenor when he was old enough. Anoke wasn't a superb musician, but he had higher hopes for his son and heir.

Kurapika was one of the youngest in the village, since the tribe had few children. His closest friend, Olathe, was a year older than he was, and a girl besides. He didn't think much of her gender, since she was always quicker in running and more fearless about exploring the forest with only a sling for defense. She reminded him of an animal, wild and spirited. Someday they would probably get married, but neither spoke about that.

They spent their precious free time together, exploring the forests happily. She was more daring than he, always willing to jump in a river or go somewhere new. He was more cautious, always thinking the repercussions through.

It was on the day of his twelfth birthday that Olathe finally kissed him. They were outside, leaning against the trunk of one of the tallest trees. They'd just raced to see who could climb higher, which she'd won.

They stared through the leaf canopy at glimpses of the brilliant blue sky beyond, and he thought it was nearly a perfect day. It _would_ have been perfect if he'd won their race, but Olathe wasn't the kind to allow herself to lose to anyone else, even if it _was_ his birthday.

It took a moment for him to catch his breath. "I'll win next time," he promised.

She rolled her eyes in the fashion of the long-suffering. "You say that every time you lose," she replied. "Face it, Kurapica, I'm better than you."

"I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet," he said stubbornly. The Kurata as a race were slow to mature, but that didn't keep him from wanting to be taller. Olathe had three inches on him, and though she was a year older, he resented it.

"I think it just forgot to happen," she said, grinning teasingly at him. "Don't worry, I'll protect you!"

He sniffed. He'd been training in the sword dance that all Kurata men learned as soon as they were old enough to hold weapons. It was more ceremonial than anything else, a glimpse back at the tribe's warrior past. Nowadays they were an agrarian society, peaceful unless riled.

"I will!" she said stubbornly.

"Whatever you say, Olathe," he murmured. It wasn't worth getting into a fight today, not when the weather was so beautiful. The sky seemed so blue, and the clouds resembled thick puffs of cotton that he could just reach out and pluck.

"So how do you feel now that's you're twelve?" she asked, her complete topic change rational to Kurapica, who knew she had a very scattered pattern of thinking.

"I can't tell," he answered. "Father says he's going to start me on the final songs, so by the time I'm thirteen, I'll be a fully qualified tale singer. Maybe that will feel different."

She tilted her head in consideration. "Maybe." Then a smile brightened her face. "Kurapica, come here," she ordered, crooking a finger commending in a fashion she'd probably copied from her mother. The two bracelets she wore on her left wrists clanged together musically.

Curious, he scooted over so he was sitting beside her. She was fond of catching interesting bugs and trying to surprise him with them. This time, he swore to himself, he would remain unflappable.

The kiss was sudden and awkward, as Olathe grabbed his cheek - along with a bit of his hair - and yanked him close. He blinked once, and then suddenly felt pressure on his lips as she mashed her face against his. Her eyes were disturbingly close, and all he could think was that his personal space was being invaded.

She pulled back just as abruptly. "You like it?" she asked.

He didn't have the heart to tell her it had barely registered with him. "I'm not sure."

She shrugged. "Maybe when we're older. My parents seem to like it."

He nodded his agreement. He couldn't see the attraction of a lot of what adults did. They never climbed trees or rolled down hill; he vowed to himself that he would always remember to have fun, although it was a foreign concept to those older than he was.

* * *

One of his favorite things was the arrival of outsiders, because they were interesting and different than the same hundred faces he saw day after day. There weren't many who traveled to Rukuso Valley for good reason.

By nature, the Kurata tribe was insular, and mistrusting of outsiders. It was a genetic quirk of their bloodline that their eyes turned scarlet whenever incited by intense emotion, and some truly gruesome individuals liked to collect them like trophies. The color was astounding, and it was human nature to desire to possess the unusual.

Only a few were allowed in, mainly traders that had proved themselves trustworthy through long association. Every few months, they would see Takota, a man who some claimed had a Kurata for a grandfather. His name certainly sounded like one of theirs, but he didn't look much like them. His eyes were too dark and his body tended toward stocky, while most Kurata were built along more delicate lines. They didn't care, since his dry sense of humor fit in well with the tribe, and he always acted like a proper guest.

By the time Kurapika was born, Takota was already an old man. His hair had long since turned gray - fascinating, since the Kurata's hair always went stark-white with age - and his voice cracked every now and then. He had been coming to the village as long as anyone could remember. He came regularly, four days a year, and the village tended to get festive then. He brought luxuries and necessities the tribe couldn't make on their own.

Kurapica was particularly fond of Takota because he would often bring a spare book to offer as a gift. He gave gifts to all the village's children on occasion, showing no favoritism. Most received sweets or toys, but early on he'd discovered Kurapica's love for learning.

Takota traveled with two pack horses, since motorized vehicles would have found it impossible to pass the roads. The roads were narrow and ill-maintained, and only the truly determined ever made the trip. The animals were strong, but they could only carry so much in their saddle bags.

It was right before the height of the summer of Kurapika's twelfth year that Anoke arrived for what would be his final visit to the valley. He has spoken the previous autumn of retiring, so the tribe was anticipating this trip with mixed feelings.

Takota's appearances were predictable, so Kurapica and Motega, a boy who was nearly fifteen, were set to watch for him.

Motega wasn't one of Kurapika's most-liked people. Motega was preparing to take his _eamemeohe_, and was becoming cocky about it. He made up stories about what he would do, and how he wasn't planning on coming back ever, ever again. Kurapica hoped he wasn't lying, because he found Motega to be on the stupid side. If given a choice, he wouldn't have spent any time with him.

Duty was duty, however, so they sat along the side of the one road that led to the village, plucking innocent blades of grass out of sheer boredom. Motega was talking, but Kurapica had long since tuned him out. Instead, he put a piece of grass to his lips, trying to play it like a reed instrument.

The weather was only fair, with a heavy group of clouds hanging ominously over their heads. Huyana, one of the village elders, had warned him that morning to bring a cloak, because it was going to rain by mid-afternoon. Kurapica was currently sitting on that cloak, wondering if Takota would make the village before the storm broke.

He felt Motega nudge him with a foot, and looked up, a bit embarrassed to be caught ignoring him. "Yes?" he asked.

"Why aren't you paying attention?" Motega asked, sounding irritated. He was darker than the typical Kurata, his hair just light enough to call dirty blond. He preferred to dress in greens, which made him look like some kind of reversed-tree to Kurapica's thinking.

"I was enjoying the day," Kurapica said, brushing his hands to get rid of the grass. "We don't have the much time to ourselves anymore."

"They'll treat us like adults soon!" Motega said enthusiastically. "And we'll be allowed to leave - I'm going so far they'll never find me again."

"Don't you wonder why everyone comes back?"

"They're brainwashed into thinking this kind of life is best. I want to know what else is out there."

"You can learn on your _eamemeohe_, and then come home," Kurapica said. He didn't want to argue with Motega. He didn't want to think that he was encouraging him to come back, but Kurapica knew the village would feel Motega's absence.

"You're such a kid," Motega said, rolling his eyes.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Kurapica asked levelly. He wasn't a big fan of growing up. From what he'd seen, it meant more work.

Motega just shook his head with a slightly superior look on his face, before moving back from the trail to find a tree to lean against. Kurapica shook his head with annoyance, peering down to search for another likely blade of grass.

When they heard the bells that hung off the saddle of the pack horses, they perked up. "He's here," Motega said unnecessarily. The two waited a few minutes, and gradually Takota came into sight - trailing not two, but three horses behind him.

His face seemed to have gained a few lines, but there was a pleasant smile on his mouth. Takota dressed in practical brown, which the Kurata found dull. They liked colors in their clothing, which tended to be long and flowing. Their fair skin was prone to burning, so their clothing was modest, protecting them from the light of the sun.

Both boys waited for the man to come to them. Kurapica bounced back and forth on his toes eagerly, wishing he knew what Takota's horses were carrying. It would be selfish to hope for another book, since he'd just received one that spring. It would be rude to ask, anyway.

"How fares the village?" Takota asked, pausing his travels so the two youths could answer him.

Since Motega was the older, he was the one to reply. "Well enough. Glad to see you, Takota! I hope the roads were welcoming." Both he and Kurapica offered bows of respect to the old friend of the tribe.

"A nice, slow journey on a series of sunny days - what could be better?" Takota asked. He had a low, gravelly voice that resonated in Kurapica's head.

"Not much!" Motega said, smiling. He nudged Kurapica. "Go on ahead and let them know we're coming," he ordered.

Kurapica nodded, then set out at an easy lope for the village. It would take Takota about ten minutes to finish the journey, so Kurapica would be able to offer enough warning that their visitor had arrived.

Running on these trails was a thing of care, because a misplaced step could lead to a twisted ankle. He kept his eyes in front of him, watching for anything that might trip him up. Around him, he could hear the sounds of birds calling around him. He paced himself, knowing that rushing would make him out of breath and only slow him down in the long run.

He made good time, and within minutes he saw the village come into sight. Huyana had the house closest to the trail, and she was outside, working in her garden. Her face lit up as she saw him emerge from the woods. "Is he here?" she called eagerly. Her voice creaked a bit with age, but still carried far enough for him to hear.

"Yes!" Kurapica told her, not slowly. He had to inform Kurak, the currently head of the council of elders. Kurak would then have time to prepare for a formal welcome. He heard her laugh as he ran by.

Kurak lived in the center of the village. His family had been the rulers of the Kurata tribe for as long as anyone could remember. Usually it was a fairly ceremonial position, since the Kurata were fairly free-spirited. Kurak was the head of the council of elders, a group that consisted of a member of Kurak's clan, and four others. Kurapika's father was the one who kept the records of those meetings.

Kurapica had attended a few of those meetings, and found them amazingly dull. They tended to talk about things like road repair and rotating crops, and rarely did anything interesting. Anoke had explained that the meetings were important and decided the fate of the village, but Kurapica suspected that it really was just so they could hang out and gossip.

Kurak's wife, Shysie, smiled at him when he knocked on the door, leaning over and clutching his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Is he here?" she asked.

"Less than ten minutes out," Kurapica said between pants.

"Good! Dear, Takota's coming!" she called over her shoulder before turning back to Kurapica. "Would you like a drink of water?"

He nodded, and she pushed the door open wide enough so he could come in. Shysie kept a clean house, he thought, even as he heard the other door open and shut. Kurak moved quick when he was working.

Shysie drew him into the kitchen, before turning to pump him a cup of water from the sink. The cup she gave handed him a moment later was painted with brilliant butterflies, the work of the village potter, Dyami. He bowed his head in gratitude before draining the cup a little more quickly than was polite.

She chuckled, and ruffled his hair with affection. "They'll be meeting in the village square," she said. "You should hurry."

He bowed again, handing the cup back to her. "Thank you," he said, before going for the door at a near jog. She was laughing behind him, but he ignored that.

The Kurata Village had been constructed centuries ago in Rukuso Valley. The houses were old, passed from generation to generation, with little changing. The oldest, a series of about fifteen buildings including the town gathering place known as _Mâheo'o_, were situated around a large space of open grass. The tribe held gatherings here, and Takota would set up his stand, ready to barter his goods from the products of the tribe.

By the time Kurapica arrived, the green had been filled with those of the tribe who'd been able to set aside what they'd been doing. People who were watching the animals would come later, but it still led to a crowd of over a hundred, about half the tribe.

Kurapica wove his way through the people, finding a prime spot in front of _Mâheo'o_. Glancing upwards, he noted the sky starting to turn gray with the clouds that would bring the rain that had been predicted. Huyana hadn't made a mistake in years.

Olathe appeared by his side as if summoned. Her long hair brushed her hips, held back only by an _ema'o_ flower, a bright red blossom that stood out against her pale skin. She was dressed better than usual, and her blue eyes were glowing with excitement. "You talk to him yet?" she asked.

"Just to say hello," Kurapica answered. "But he has three packhorses this time!" he added in a whisper.

She grinned at him, flashing white teeth. "Cool! Do you think he brought more scarlet dye? My mother is almost out, and she's been complaining." 

"Doesn't he always bring dye?"

"Not always the same color," she said with exasperation. "Besides, when he retires this year, it's going to be much more difficult to get. Sugino never remembers particular requests, and Kiku doesn't have a normal schedule," she continued, mentioning the two other merchants the tribe dealt with.

The cloth the Kurata weavers created was popular far away, particularly among the rich. Most of the dyes had to be imported, because it was difficult to get a red that would really hold from the plants they had available, and indigo was another luxury. Takota had always been the best at procuring what was desired, and his absence would be noted in coming years.

"Takota spoils us," Kurapica said, smiling a bit. "We'll get by."

She lifted a finger, prepared to wave it in his face to make a point, but was cut off by the sound of bells. It was still distant, but enough to distract him. "He's here!" she squealed, dancing around a little. Kurapica just smiled indulgently. He'd realized long ago that Olathe was as changeable as the weather.

Within minutes, Takota appeared in the square, coming from behind the houses. Motega was pulling one of the horses, smiling a bit as the villagers' attention fell on them. He was excited to be a part of this.

Kurak, dressed in a fine red robe that was intricately embroidered with his clan pattern, stepped forward boldly. For Takota's last visit, Kurak himself would offer Takota hearth welcoming, supplying him with food and shelter. It was an honor that Takota had long since earned, for being such a good friend to the tribe.

"Welcome, Takota! How was your trip?" Kurak asked.

Takota smiled, his face wrinkling up with lines of age. "Good enough. I brought an extra horse because I wanted to make sure I brought everything." There had been a time or two that Takota had elected to leave items behind because of the limits of his mode of travel. It was kind of him to make sure he didn't forget anything this time, since there would be no "later trip" to bring it on.

Kurapica felt a drop of rain brush against his cheek like a whisper. Glancing up at the sky, he saw the sky had turned a nearly black; this was going to be a strong storm. Apparently Kurak felt it as well, because he motioned to Motega. "I'm sorry," he was saying to Takota, "but we're going to have to cut the greetings short if we don't want to get drenched. Motega, help Takota saddle his beasts."

Takota smiled, and murmured something about being more interested in a good bed and a warm meal than a celebration. The Kurata loved community gatherings and used any excuse to throw a party. Tomorrow the Kurata would hold their solstice celebration, but that didn't prevent them from wanting to offer a proper welcome to their favorite guest.

"When you're done, come to my home," Kurak said.

The agreement struck, Takota gathered the reins of his horses and started toward the stable kept behind _Mâheo'o_. Kurapica had only a moment to be disappointed, before the skies opened up and sheets of rain began to fall. He heard the squeals of protest from Olathe, but turned to run to his house to seek shelter. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Mighty on the Earth**  
_ by_ _aishuu_

* * *

_Part 2_: 

The next morning, Kurapica woke up to the sound of his father's voice, lifted in song.

Lying on his pallet, he listened to his father sing. Anoke's voice was a pleasant tenor, nothing spectacular, but it was reassuring to him. Kurapica knew the melody like the back of his hand, a simple chant-like song that could carry different lyrics, depending on the mood of the tribe. Their mourning songs were the same as the ones they used to placate the winter weather, while the marriage songs sounded similar to the summer solstice ones.

Under his breath, he mouthed the words, the song rising in his throat, familiar and loved. Finally the song came to an end on a long, trilling note, and Kurapica smiled to himself. One day, he would sing the world awake as well.

It took a few more minutes before he found the energy to rise. He liked lying in bed early in the morning, reflecting on what the day would bring. There would be a festival tonight, celebrating the season and thanking God for his kindness. It had rained steadily yesterday, and there would be more work to do before they could celebrate.

The soil in Rukuso Valley wasn't the best, and it took a lot effort to manage the small plots each family kept. Hunting supplemented the sheep and goats the tribe raised, with the young men of the village alternating between shepherd duties and scouring the forests for prey. Kurapica wasn't old enough to accompany the hunts, which meant he spent a lot of time working the gardens.

Procrastinating would only mean he'd have to work more quickly. He levered himself off the cot he slept on, relieved by a glance out the window that showed a nice, sunny day. Pushing passed the curtain that served as a door for his room, he made his way to the kitchen.

His father was making breakfast. Anoke usually did this; it offered Zaltana a chance to sleep in since he had to be up anyway. Summer was too hot to use the stove, so it really meant fresh fruit and sheep's milk. Anoke had picked up bread from the village baker the day before, so it was still fresh.

"Good morning, father," Kurapica said.

Anoke turned around so he could ruffle his son's hair affectionately. "Did I wake you again?"

"It's not a problem," Kurapica replied. "I like to hear you sing."

Anoke laughed, before handing Kurapica a bowl of sliced strawberries in milk, along with a hunk of the bread. "Sit down, and let's eat."

Kurapica smiled at his father as he settled in. After ripping a piece of bread off, he dipped into the bowl to use as an eating utensil. The strawberries were perfectly ripened, he thought with pleasure. He took a moment to savor the taste before returning to conversation. "Is the festival planning going well?"

"Doesn't it always?" Anoke asked, taking the chair across from his son. "Takota brought some fireworks for us to set off."

Kurapica smiled eagerly. "Really?" He'd only seen them once before, but they had fascinated him.

"Enough for a short show. He's going to show your mother how to set them off, and they'll put a display on for us later."

Kurapica squirmed a bit at the thought. The way the familiar skies had been dyed, even if only for a moment, with colors had been unforgettable. He couldn't wait to see what it would look like this time.

His father chuckled again, recognizing his excitement. "Of course, there's a lot of work to do today before," he said.

Kurapica pulled a face, but didn't argue.

The rest of the day went by treacherously slow. First he worked in the garden, pulling the weeds that the rain had encouraged. Usually he and Olathe would help each other in their family plots, but today there was no sign of her. She'd probably been drafted to help cook for the meal, or was creating flower chains for decorations.

After the garden was done, he wiped the sweat from his brow before entering his house to get something to drink. Zaltana was awake now, and didn't look happier for it. She'd never been much of a morning person, and he noted the circles under her eyes. Sometimes she had nightmares, which prevented her from resting well.

She raised her head from her cup of herbal tea, staring at him with blank eyes for a second before recognition set it. "Hello, Kurapica," she murmured. "Done with the weeding?"

"Yes," he said. "Where's father?"

"Helping Takota set up, I would imagine," she said. "He'll open in an hour or two, so I'll head over there to see if he wants to trade." Takota had always been interested in Zaltana's jewelry. She didn't work in gems, but her elegant metal sculpting had their own beauty. A few of the rich from York Shin were starting to develop a fondness for them, and they were becoming popular. "Is there anything you'd like me to get?"

"If he brought a book..." he said hesitantly.

Her smile was warm and understanding. "I'm sure he has something for you," she said. "How about you go do your katas and then I'll make lunch?"

He nodded, going to his room to fetch the two short swords that were the signature of a Kurata warrior. It had been generations since their tribe had taken the battlefield, but they remembered. Sword practice built muscles and fostered grace, qualities that were useful for hunting. The children of the tribe learned to use slings as soon as they could walk, and staffs not long after. The sword dance was taught to all who turned ten, leaving only archery. When Kurapica turned thirteen, he would be taught to use a bow, completing his education as a fighter.

Today, he headed to the back of the house, finding a spot where the grass had been worn down by the frequent traffic. His parents both practiced their sword work here as well, although his father only did so half-heartedly. Anoke was a man of words, not weapons, but it was an important form of exercise. There was a reason that Kurata remained trim well into their sixth decade.

Kurapica let his mind sink into that state of calm the Kurata called _kotoo'êstse_, the state where thought crept away and only instinct remained. As little children, they were taught to meditate into it, but eventually they could enter the state at will. It was a direct contrast to the Red Eyes, which happened when they became excited. For a Kurata, learning to control that impulse was vital. It was what made them such dangerous fighters; when they unleashed their rage, it remained controlled.

His muscles were getting sore, and sweat started to bead at the back of his neck. Checking the sky, he noted the sun had moved two hours further on her journey.

"Kurapica?" he heard his mother call. Turning, he saw her holding a towel as she stood by the back door.

"Coming!" he said, sheathing his blades on his hips before scurrying over to her. He took the towel and started to dry his face, thinking he needed to get a bath. "Did you see Takota?" he asked curiously.

"You mean, did I buy you anything?" she teased, a playful smile on her lips.

"Maybe," he said, glancing at her coyly.

She laughed, before mussing his hair with a playful hand. "Maybe!" she shot back, winking.

A bath could wait, he decided. "Can I see?" he asked, trying to give her puppy-dog eyes.

His hair took another ruffle, before she motioned for him to come inside. He followed her eagerly, knowing that she'd found some kind of book, since she seemed so cheerful.

The kitchen table had a bowl full of freshly-snapped beans in the center, with the cloth that collected the tips still there as well. Later his mother would throw it onto their compost pile. He tried to covertly look around and see if he could spot the gift, earning a chuckle from his mother.

"I put it in your room," she told him, breaking the suspense.

He grinned, then ducked through the curtain which marked the boundaries of his space. His room was small, containing a suspension bed that he had to tighten every night, a small bureau which had been in his family for generations, and a couple shelves that he kept his precious books on. Looking around eagerly, his eyes finally settled on his bed, widening in delight as he noticed not one, but three books sitting on his feather pillow.

He sat down on the bed slowly, staring at the colorful covers. _The Life and Times of a Hunter, Legends of York Shin City,_ and _The Master's Collection of Contemporary Literature_, he read, before reaching out and picking up the first, a heavy tome that smelled like old leather and paper, a unique aroma that made him shiver a bit inside.

Many Kurata didn't like reading, and did so only sparingly. There were more important things to do than mess around with books, like hunting and farming. Still, all learned how while they were young, usually from their parents. When they traveled outside the village, they needed to know enough to communicate.

Kurapica had been unusual in his love for learning. He'd started to read early, learning his letters quickly, before discovering the joy of books - and then there had been no stopping him. He fell in love with words, with knowledge, and found himself devouring anything he could get his hands on. He'd borrowed every book in the village at least twice.

He heard the whisper of fabric as his mother passed into his room. She came to stand by him, before placing a warm hand on his left shoulder. "Do you like them?"

"They're wonderful," he whispered. If he read slowly, taking time to reflect on the words, the books would last for a week. Then he could re-read them.

She leaned forward to press her lips against his forehead affectionately. "How about you wait until tomorrow to start reading? There's plenty that needs to be done for the festival." His mother was being diplomatic, he recognized. If he started to read, he'd only get interrupted and that would make him irritable. Tomorrow would be a quieter day, with people sleeping off the effects of a night-long feast.

He only had to battle with himself for a few moments, before he stacked the books neatly and set them at the foot of the bed. "That's a good idea. What do you need me to do?"

* * *

The clothes the Kurata wore were the same for both genders, helping foster the tribe's androgynous quality, especially since the men tended to like jewelry just as much as the women did. The men were built on delicate lines, while the women didn't develop large busts or hips, which only exacerbated the confusion for the rare outsiders. 

Tonight, all wore their finest, long draping shirts that hung to the knee over soft, comfortable pants. Most of the shirts were decorated with fine embroidery, the patterns of families edged along the shoulders. Kurapica was wearing blue, his favorite color, while his mother wore a fine red tunic slit to her waist to offer better freedom of movement. She ruffled his hair affectionately, before wandering toward the other young women of the village.

Children - those even younger than Kurapica - had spent the morning gathering wood and scraps, piling them into the village square to create a bonfire. The pile was huge, large enough to burn for days.

Dusk was just starting the dye the sky with shades of purple, and Kurapica took a deep breath of the cool night air, relieved to see there wasn't a cloud in the sky. If it had rained, they would have moved into _Mâheo'o_, but it wouldn't have been as enjoyable. This night was about communing with the divine, and there was no better way that to do it under the stars.

He thought once of the books still in his room, waiting to be read, and gave a contented sigh. It was tempting to sneak back for a couple minutes, just until the ceremony began, but that would disappoint his parents and betray the trust they had in him. He needed to be here, to watch and learn what his father did as talesinger. The books would be there tomorrow. He should enjoy this night for what it had to offer.

He thought Olathe looked nice, her golden outfit matching the color of her hair. Her family had many good weavers, and the cloth seemed tailored for their youngest scion. She waved to him from across the campfire, but had her attention quickly diverted by her younger sister, Tehya.

He rolled his eyes, deciding it was going to be one of _those_ nights, with Olathe suddenly thinking that she needed to be with the other females of the tribe. That left him to his own devices, and while there were a few other children close to his age, Olathe was his favorite.

"Abandoned already?" an amused voice asked from behind him.

Kurapica turned slowly, trying to maintain his composure. Elu, Kurak's son, was standing there, a freshly-killed deer over his shoulder. His eyes were still red from the excitement of the hunt.

"Temporarily," Kurapica said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. Elu was the most respected of the tribe's young men, and would someday be its next leader. One day, Kurapica would serve as Elu's advisor, as Anoke was Kurak's.

Elu chuckled. "Would you like to help me with this, then? I'll be dancing later, but I have to finish this first." He shrugged his shoulder to get a better hold on the carcass.

"Sure!" Kurapica agreed, always willing to spend time with Elu. The older teenager had come back from his _eamemeohe_ two years before, and it was an honor for him to pay attention to Kurapica. He fell into step beside the hunter, trying to keep from bouncing in excitement.

Elu set off for the back of the _Mâheo'o_, which was where the tribe hung its prizes to drain their blood.

It appeared that someone had been there earlier, removing what had previously brought in. There was only one deer still remaining, the one that had been taken yesterday. "If you can just hold the hook, I'll do the work. Wouldn't want to get anything on your clothes," Elu said.

Kurapica nodded, going to the side to retrieve a hook which had been cleaned recently. The metal tool was always heated in a fire before being used again to ensure it was sanitary. Together, they hooked the animal up, Elu handling most of the heavy lifting. Their skill was such they didn't get splattered with anything. This deer would be ready in another couple of days.

Kurapica looked at the blood that was beginning to pool on the sandy ground, crinkling his nose. He'd hunt for the tribe for a year or two when he got older, like they all did, which kept him from being disgusted, but that didn't mean he had to like the mess.

Elu was cleaning his hands with a cloth and with water from a nearby bucket kept for that purpose. Kurapica noticed the red had faded from Elu's eyes, leaving them the light gray color that he'd inherited from Shysie. They were unusual, and Kurapica knew many of the girls found them mysterious.

"Thanks, Kurapica," he said. "It's so much easier with someone helping."

Kurapica agreed aloud, though he was suspecting Elu had invited him for company, rather than because he needed the aid. "Did you need anything else?" he asked.

"Not really, but if you'd come with me to my house, I have something I'd like to give you."

Kurapica agreed quietly, although his curiosity seethed beneath his feigned politeness. Kurak's house was closest to the square, and close to the _Mâheo'o_, which meant he could hear the voices of the tribe as people continued to gather.

They entered the house from the back, and Elu held up a hand to stop him. "Just give me a second to change," Elu said. He disappeared through a curtain-covered door, and Kurapica heard the quiet whisper of fabric as Elu discarded his soiled clothes for something finer.

Kurapica allowed himself a moment to entertain ideas of what Elu could be giving him. Perhaps a belatedly birthday gift - Elu was a gifted carver, and would often create practical items that were inscribed beautifully with patterns favored by the tribe.

He perked up curiously as Elu returned, dressed in a brilliant red that dye makers called Kurata red. The clothes weren't as loose as many formal clothes, but made for movement. There were no draping sleeves or elaborate tabards; instead, the outfit relied on the intricate embroiderie across the shoulders and around the waist to make it special. Elu would perform a dance later, and his fashion choices made sense. In his hands he held something long and slender, wrapped in a piece of undyed wool cloth. He motioned for Kurapica to come closer.

"One of the things Takota brought was a set of swords I ordered, so I don't need my old ones anymore," he said, removing the protective fabric to show a pair of swords, tied together at the base by a long, thing chord of silk. "They're a little bit too short for me, but I think they'd suit you well."

Kurapica stared at the swords. They were a matched pair, encased in strong wood so they could be used closer to nunchaku than regular blades. They were a specialty of the tribe, and this pair was finer than most. "Take them," Elu encouraged.

He could feel the balance in his hands, and thrilled at the idea of practicing with them. A warrior was only as good as his weapons, and these were very, very good ones. He opened his mouth, trying to find something to say, but the words choked up in his throat. "Stand straight, and I'll help you with them."

Kurapica went rigid as Elu took the swords. It took only a second, but he secured the weapons to the inside of Kurapica's shirt. The weight felt odd, but most of the tribe wore their weapons there. _Wear a smile openly and keep your weapons hidden,_ was a popular Kurata saying.

"Hunt well, brother," Elu said, before ruffling Kurapica's hair affectionately. Kurapica decided it was the best day of his life.

* * *

When they returned, the fire had already been started, burning the sweet-smelling wood of the _Eexovo_ tree. The wood wasn't much good for keeping houses warm, since it burned quickly, but mixed with hardwoods, it burned brightly as it offered a distinctive aroma that reminded Kurapica of ginger. Elu waved to him and wandered off, trotting toward the group of young men. 

Kurapica looked around, finally deciding that shadowing his father would be the best idea. At twelve, he was just shy of being old enough to participate. Next year, he would join his father in the formal singing, so it would benefit him to take this opportunity to learn.

His father was checking a drum, making sure the skin was pulled taunt. Weather could cause it to shrink or expand, causing an uneven sound. A good musician worked hard at maintaining his tools, just like a fighter. Anoke glanced up at him, his blue eyes warming with affection as his son stood uncertainly in front of him.

"Can you make sure the fiddle is properly tuned?" he asked.

Kurapica smiled at him happily, before picking up the instrument. He had known these instruments for as long as he could remember, and liked hearing them at their best. He had perfect pitch, like his father, and untuned instrument rung in his ears like nothing else.

He mentally hummed as he worked on adjusting the strings. He could feel the humidity rising in the air, and tightened the strings slightly. This was not an ideal night to be performing outside, but since it was the solstice, it had to be done.

He finished quickly, glancing around in the twilight. The fire provided enough light to see by, but things felt magical and otherworldly. Colors were distorted in the evening, casting everything with a red tint. It reminded him of the two times his own eyes had turned crimson out of fear; once when he'd nearly fallen out of a tree, the other when Olathe abandoned him in the woods after hearing a wolf's howl.

A few of the older members, though that could control their skill best, were displaying the crimson eyes. It was a sign of maturity, being able to summon the eyes at will, and festive occasions like this were a good place to display their mastery. Among friends, it was a sign of trust.

Anoke beat the drum three times, gathering the tribe's attention. The group hushed, drifting to informal places around Anoke. It wasn't rushed, but it only took a few minutes for people to sort themselves out. Kurapica noticed his mother across the circle, with Olathe a couple places down. He sat at his father's side respectfully, waiting for the celebration to truly begin.

"Welcome, friends. I'm glad you've all arrived," Anoke said, causing the crowd to fall completely silent. "I hope you can all hear me - if not, you should talk to Taborri, and she can repeat it."

Taborri waved a fist with an expression of feigned annoyance. There were a few chuckles from the gathered tribe, since Taborri was known for her piercingly high voice, but they were silent quickly after with respectful silence.

Anoke's eyes lit up, stained red with passion, right on cue. He smiled at the crowd, before launching into the Hymn of Kurata. The long song, really more of a chant, thanked the spirits and the land for the life they led. He sang it through, and then the tribe echoed the last few lines:

_God, please praise eternally,  
The Kuruta people.  
Let us use our Scarlet Eyes._

There was a long moment of silence as the tribe reflected on the words. Anoke sang the same song every morning, but it carried more resonance now, underneath the starlight of the shortest night of the year.

Kurak's part came next. He stepped forward, and bowed in a low sweeping gesture that conveyed humbled majesty. His family had led the tribe for generations, providing strong men and women that understood the fierce need to stay secluded. Every other generation or so, a few of the council would make mention of possibly seeing about opening their borders to more trade, but Kurak's family would remain firm. The Kurata existed because of their isolation. If they welcomed the rest of the world, they would be destroyed, swept away by a faster pace of life.

Kurak's voice, a deep baritone that rumbled with authority, spread through the clearing as he addressed the clan, saying the ceremonial blessing. Kurapica tuned him out, having heard the same speech dozens of times. He fidgeted a little, glancing to his right at the food table until Anoke gave him a pointed nudge.

Kurapica refocused just as one of the oldest women came forward to offer her own song. It was one Kurapica didn't recognize immediately, either a new composition or an old song that fell out of favor a while ago. For tonight, the Kurata would sing and dance, thanking the earth for supporting them. It was the shortest night of the year, and all would remain awake to see the dawn. They took turns, sometimes in groups, other times alone. A few were quite good, but most just passed mediocre, but that was all right because their enthusiasm made up for a lack of skill.

Kurapica smiled as a few of the youngest of the tribe tried to drone out the other singers, but he kept his voice balanced. A good singer didn't need to show off. It was always this way during summer solstice, the excitement vibrating through the air like a lute string.

Finally the moon rose to its highest point, and it was time for the main event. The height of the ceremony was the sword dance, in which Elu, as chieftain's son, would consecrate the weapons with a moonlight. He set up by placing ten swords in a star-like pattern, each touching the other on the hilt or tip.

Kurapica watched as Elu moved to the center of the circle, before pulling the swords that hung at his hips. He froze, a perfect tribute to the best of the Kurata tribe's warrior past. Then Anoke began to beat the drums in a three-beat pattern.

_Dum, dum, dum..._

The rhythm made Kurapica's blood leap. It was a fast beat, and infectious, and one by one, the tribesman joined in, clapping their own hands in time.

As soon as everyone was participating, Elu began to move. The regular pattern could be picked up by any skilled dancer, and Kurapica noticed Elu preferred the second beat, a difficult place to time steps to. Elu moved quickly, opening the dance with movements similar to the first kata the tribe learned. The Kurata appreciated good swordsmanship, and Elu was currently their best.

Then his movements slowed down, and Kurapica held his breath. This part was dangerous, but Elu made no sign of hesitation as he kicked up a blade using his heel. The sword arced through the air, catching the moonlight with its blade. Elu spun around it, as it arced down, treating it like a fellow dancer. The blade skewered the soft ground as it came down, and the tribe smiled.

Then Elu caused another blade to fly, twisting around it as it spiraled through the air. This one landed in the ground the same as the first, and Elu sent another up.

He was good, Kurapica thought. The more blades he caused to sink into the ground, superstition said, the better the fall's harvest would be. The only noise, aside from the sound of the swords sinking into the ground, were Elu's relatively quiet feet, and the steady beat of Anoke's drum.

Finally the dance started to wind down, and the people sighed in appreciation as Elu flung the final sword. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but he ended the dance in the center of the shape, a rough circle that spanned around 10 feet. The dance has been good, and the young women of the tribe stepped forward to offer drinks and towels, smiling and doing their best to attract Elu's attention. Kurak's son was old enough to consider marriage soon, and Kurapica wondered who would finally catch his attention.

In the aftermath, he watched his mother slip away, moving toward Takota. The old man smiled and placed his hand with familiar affection on her sleeve, before nodding in agreement to whatever she was saying. She laughed, throwing her hair back, and then offered her arm to Takota. Within seconds, they vanished from the gathering.

Tilting his head back, he waited. It wasn't long before a loud, cracking "boom!" filled the air, and the sky was suddenly alight with red and yellow lights. Tilting his head back, Kurapica laughed happily, before settling down beside his father, staring at the fantastic display of lights.

He listened as the crowd made appreciative murmurs at each explosion, and decided that life couldn't get any better. Kurapica never wanted this night to end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mighty on the Earth**  
_by aishuu_

* * *

_Part 3_:

A week after Takota left, another stranger came. The Kurata weren't expecting any visitors, so they were less than happy about it. They disliked intrusions of the outside world into their quiet lifestyle, guarding their privacy zealously.

The Kurata had once been a warrior tribe, and vestiges remained in their descendants. Once the Kurata had swept across the land, plundering what they wanted and destroying what they didn't. Their legend remained in old wives tales outsiders spoke of the red-eyed demons that had mercilessly killed any who dared oppose them.

It had been a violent time before the discovery of gun powder. After that, the tribe had been pushed back; they disdained the guns that the _ve'ho'e_, the outsiders, had taken to using. They required no skill, and no honor. Their stubbornness to adapt to the new weapons was almost their doom; their tribe, which once numbered in the thousands, was whittled down to a scant hundred before they claimed the Rukuso Valley as theirs. While the land was beautiful, it was hard to farm and far off the conventional trade routes, so they were left to themselves.

The few traders that they did allow were selected carefully. It was Elu's, as son of the leader, task to make occasional trips outside the village to search for those who could be trusted. He would be leaving in autumn, around a month before the snows fell, to find someone to replace Takota.

The guard posted on the outskirts of the village - a usually dull task that offered plenty of time for carving or weaving for craftspeople - spotted the intruder a half mile from the village. He quickly hot-footed it to the main tribe to offer warning.

Kurapica had been rehearsing songs with his father, which gave him an excuse to follow Anoke. His father was one of the ranking villagers, and when the messenger arrived, his face drew with worry. After a second of consideration, he spoke to his son. "Come with me - just stay out of sight," his father told him, his face drawn with tenseness. He drew the sword belt that he kept by the door around his waist. "And wear your weapons."

Kurapica nodded, realizing that this would be another lesson for him. He ran to his room to grab the swords Elu had given him, hanging them from inside his shirt in the fashion of a proper Kurata warrior.

They arrived just in time to watch the stranger come into sight. Kurapica found one of the bushes that outlined the green, ducking out of sight. He had learned, while hunting small game using a sling, that stillness was an asset. His breathing was long and soft, making sure he was filling his lungs with oxygen in case something happened.

The man made his way to the green, and since he didn't seem to be carrying weapons, he was allowed to pass unhindered. The stranger was small and dark, and short. Kurapica was nearly as tall as he was. He held two donkeys, strong beasts of burden that could carry loads over the trails without too much hassle.

"I'm looking for Kurata Kurak," he said. "I'm Feitan, a traveling merchant," he said. "I hear you're looking for a new merchant," the man said as he stopped in the middle of the square.

Obviously the man didn't know much about the tribe, since he didn't know that only outsiders gave them "Kurata" as a family name. The Kurata only went by a given name, seeing no point in confusing things with additional names.

Anoke, as the ranking member of the tribe present, stepped forward. "He's on his way," he said. He made no offer of refreshment or to bring Feitan to a more comfortable place, a subtle snub. Moments later, Elu arrived and came to flank Anoke, his hands resting on the hilt of his swords threateningly. His usual smile was missing, and Kurapica shuddered inside.

The minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness as the silence hung between them. Feitan had a lot of patience, and didn't flinch under the hostile eyes of the tribe. It was admirable in a way, since he would have to be an idiot not to realize he wasn't welcome.

Kurak appeared in a matter of minutes. Had this been an invited guest, he would have dressed in the sharp clothing the tribe preferred, but this man didn't rate such an effort. Instead, Kurak was still wearing the bloody apron he used while butchering. He wasn't so uncouth as to be wielding the knife, but Kurapica knew he had weapons on his person.

"I'm Kurak," he said, not making any form of greeting. "What do you want?"

"I hear you're looking for a new merchant," Feitan repeated, showing no sign of reaction to the snubs he was being dealt.

"You can stay for the night before turning around, but we are not interested in trading," Kurak said, folding his arms over his chest. "There is a guest cabin at the edge of the village."

The cabin was little more than walls, lacking any sort of luxury. It would not be a welcoming place to stay - but no one was going to step forward to offer him hearth warming. The Kurata tribe had long since learned that few were worthy of trust.

Feitan didn't appear offended, merely nodding his acceptance. "Is there anywhere I can get a bath?" he asked.

"We are a people of limited means, and have no such facilities for travelers," Kurak said, his words pointed and splitting the fine line. The Kurata always had places for guests; it was those who hadn't been invited that found the cold lack of hospitality.

The man shrugged again, his indifference apparent. It was a different reaction than most who were turned away; many complained that they needed to be given a chance to prove themselves, but long experience had made the tribe cautious. Since their eyes were viewed as prizes by some of the most gruesome aspects of humanity, it was a lesson well learned.

The tribe wouldn't threaten the man openly, but being given a cold shoulder often worked miracles. It was hard to enjoy being someplace where people pretended you didn't exist, especially while the rest of the community reveled in its close bonds. "Very well," Feitan said. "If someone will show me the way?"

Yahto, a young fighter who ran with Elu, stepped forward. He was the tallest of their tribe, just a couple inches shorter than six feet, and the most muscular. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared down at Feitan. "I'll take him, Kurak," he said, treating Feitan as not important enough to speak to. His eyes were glowing with the famed crimson that made them so prized; a sign of his youth. Older members learned to repress their fears and excitement.

"Thank you," Kurak said, smiling warmly. It was nice when tribe members stepped up to volunteer, however distasteful the task. Yahto wasn't volunteering for just escorting the man - he also had accepted guard duty until he left. It would be a long, cold evening outside in a tree for him as he made sure the man stayed where he was supposed to.

Feitan just shrugged as Yahto crooked a finger, indicating Feitan was to follow. The man just drew on the ropes of his animals without protest. As he turned, the man's gaze fell on the bush Kurapica was hid in, and Kurapica felt a cold chill work through his body. This man was dangerous, and he made a note to make sure he kept his weapons with him until he left.

The next morning, the stranger left with the sunrise. There was no incidents, and people quickly put the matter to the back of their minds.

* * *

A month after the encounter with Feitan, the Kurata held another celebration. Namid and his wife, Bly, had just had their first son, whom they named Helaku.

Birth celebrations were nearly as enjoyable as solstice ones, since there was mochi. A week after the child's birth, the clan gathered together to admire the child and offer gifts to the parents. Many children's items had been circled through different families this way; Kurapica's cradle had been a gift from Kurak; two years ago, it had been given to another Kurata newborn.

The crowd was dressed in its festive best, and all were celebrating merrily. The men were happily plying Namid with drinks, telling horrible stories about about how his life was going to change. Fathers played an active role in a child's upbringing, so Namid was learning about changing baby clothes and sleepless nights.

Kurapica obligingly held the child when it was his turn, staring into the clear blue eyes of the newest member of the tribe. Helaku gurgled, waved his pudgy little hands and tried to catch hold of Kurapica's ears. Kurapica scowled, untangling the tiny fingers from his hair a couple of times before he could politely pass the child onto Motega.

His mother was looking at him with nostalgic eyes, and he knew it would only be minutes before she broke out stories about his childhood. He ducked away, hoping to avoid overhearing the embarrassing tales.

Olathe chuckled as he went to sit beside her. She was wearing blue today, Kurapica's favorite color, and something inside of him responded to that, causing a smile to bloom on his face. She really was quite pretty, he thought, before wondering where the notion had come from. "Avoiding the parents?" she asked.

"She's going to start in on the first time she tried to change my diaper," he said moodily, dejectedly propping his chin up in his hands. "Then she's going to start in about my first word."

"What was it?" she asked.

"Ma, of course. Nothing real exciting. What was yours?"

"Hammock," she replied.

"_Hammock?_ You're weird."

"It's not fun to be normal," she said, before sticking out her tongue. Glancing at his hands, she noticed a tell-tale stickiness. "Been at the mochi?"

Kurapica's favorite part of any birth celebration was the mochi that his mother made. It was sweet and had a good texture, and she only made it to welcome a new tribe member, since rice was expensive. He had found himself drifting to collect helpings from the food table more than once, but he wasn't alone. He had smirked as Huyana winked at him as they met for the third time. "I won't tell if you don't," she had said playfully as they took more mochi.

Olathe had noticed, and Kurapica would be regretting that. She would probably tease him for weeks about overindulging. "Just a bit," he hedged.

She tsked, clicking her teeth chidingly. "You shouldn't. You'll get fat."

He turned his nose up. "At least I'll be happier knowing I enjoyed life!" he said with false arrogance.

She looked at him, and he stared back, and they collapsed into a fit of giggles together. Glancing at her, he realized that he liked her better when she was smiling. She looked almost pretty. For a second, he was tempted to ask if she wanted to try kissing again sometime, but he repressed that notion without really thinking on it. Olathe was his friend, after all, and there was no need to confuse the issue by treating her like a girl.

* * *

That night, something unusual happened after he went to sleep. Someone's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He awoke slowly, his head still groggy from sleep.

"Huh?" he asked, a bit confused, but a hand over his mouth stifled anything he might have said.

Zaltana loomed over him, and he wondered why she hadn't lit a candle. Her face was inches from his own, and he saw that they were crimson instead of their usual deep blue. They were glowing in the dark, and he felt his adrenaline kick in. She helped him sit up, and his confusion increased as she slipped his shoes on his feet. Something was wrong.

She held a slim finger to his lips, indicating he was to remain quiet as she removed her other hand. It was only his absolute trust that kept his mouth shut and prevented him from asking for an explanation. The moonlight cast strange shadows across her pretty face, and he could tell she was terrified.

She handed him his shoes, which he slid on soundlessly. She kept glancing around, skittish like a young colt. When finished, he looked at her curiously.

"Whatever happens, you must listen to everything I tell you," she said softly. "We're going out the window, and I don't want you to look around. Just follow me, and keep quiet."

He had never been afraid like this before. He felt his eyes start to shift into _tokushitsu,_ the red eyes of passion and fear. His vision sharpened, tinted by shades of scarlet and he felt his head start to swim. But she had asked him to trust her, and he would. Succumbing to terror and uncertainty would be counterproductive.

Instead of exiting via the door, his mother lifted him carefully so he could climb out the window. He landed softly, on the balls of his feet, and seconds later his mother was there. She glanced back at the house, before picking out a path to take.

Behind him, he thought he heard screams, but his mother's hand grabbed his own, compelling him to run forward. He wanted to ask where his father was, but they were moving so quickly it was all he could do to keep up. They were running like he'd been trained in his weapons class, stepping on the balls of their feet rather than their heels.

His homeland seemed strange and twisted at night, and he suffered from severe disorientation as once familiar surroundings were warped by his fear.

They were about to enter the woods when his mother pulled him up abruptly. It took a second for him to see why; a tall, bored-looking stranger was standing on the trail, and it would be difficult to enter the woods without him seeing them. She pulled his arm the other way, before dragging him off to the small copse of shrubs that were in front of Huyana's house.

His mother's arms tensed around him, and he looked up, seeing her red eyes flashing their fear. He felt his breath catch, wondering if they would be discovered.

One breath. Two. He concentrated on the sound of his breathing. Think of the sky, of counting the number of stars. Don't think what was happening to his people.

They would find him if he moved, so he needed to find something else to think about instead of the panic he was tempted to succumb to. His mother was here, and they were safe. He would mourn for the others later, but for now, they had to survive.

They could hear the sounds in the distant of battle, the chime of sword on metal, and the occasional sound of gunshots. His mother was shaking slightly in fear, but he told himself to remain calm and wait.

It was torturous, and took less than half an hour before the noise came to an end. The night plunged into a mournful silence, and Kurapica leaned back into his mother's embrace. He wondered where his father was, what had happened and why the world had suddenly been turned upside down.

He chanced turning to look at his mother, and saw his own fear written in her face. A parent wasn't supposed to be scared; a parent was supposed to be able to protect their child. An irrational surge of anger at his father worked through him. Shouldn't he have figured out this was possible?

They heard the sound of breathing approaching, two people who weren't trying to be careful. It was the intruders, their attackers, and Kurapica bit back a gasp of fear.

"There were supposed to by two-hundred and sixty-three," he heard a woman's voice said. "I saw eight take a ship, which Nobunaga has gone after, but we're missing one."

"Keep looking. The Genei Ryodan never leave survivors."

"Yes, Kuroro-sama."

How could they only be missing one? Kurapica wondered in horror. Both he and his mother were still in hiding. He wondered if they would be found; if they would die or have the chance to escape.

Then his quick mind figured out the mystery. Whoever had supplied the information about their tribe hadn't known of Helaku's birth, he realized. But they'd accounted for everyone else.

That made him start shaking, the slight tremors wracking his body. He tried to calm down, knowing he might make the leaves move, but his mind wasn't able to regain control.

Zaltana's breathing quickened, and then her arms loosened. His mother looked at him for a long moment, like she wanted to memorize his face, before kissing him on the forehead.

"Stay here," she said. "No matter what happens, _stay hidden._"

He nodded, the fear that was flowing throw his body like the wave of a tsunami paralyzing him from all action. He watched as she crept away from him, the red fabric of her tunic turning black from the absence of light.

He wasn't sure what she was doing. Did she think she could fight them? She was a jeweler, and while she had gone through the weapons training all Kurata did, she was long past her prime as a fighter. As far as he knew, she'd never participated in the hunts. His stomach started to churn, and he shut his eyes. He _knew_ deep down exactly what Zaltana was up to, and didn't want to accept it.

He heard the slight rustling of grass as she made her way through the area, moving toward the trail. Not too far away, he could sense the presence of the intruders, and with sick certainty, he knew his mother was doomed.

"There's the last!" he heard a voice call.

He didn't see his mother die. He felt ashamed, but he had to keep his eyes closed. He heard her cry out with a warrior's anger, then the scuff of her feet as she tried to fight off her attacker. He wanted to come out, but he had given his word to stay hidden.

"She's dead, and I got them," a woman said, a curious flatness in her voice. "Can we leave now?"

"No point in staying. We've got what we came for," said the earlier male voice. _Kuroro. _"Gather everyone and tell them we're on our way. Leave the bodies."

_The bodies._

They were talking about his tribe: his family and friends, the people he knew as surely as he recognized his own name. Bile rose in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow and not throw up. Getting sick now would be one of the worst things he could do. Instead, he curled up in a tight ball, pressing his knees to his chest as he made himself as small as possible.

He listened as the group moved away. They were probably taking the south trail away from the village - it wasn't the easiest trail, but it would put them on the nearest route to York Shin City. They would be able to go to the docks at Palis, and pick up a ship that would carry them away to the fabled metropolis. And from there, they would be able to sell whatever they had taken. Maldid and Rondon, cities close to Rukuso Valley, were tentatively allies of the tribe and might raise an alarm, but there was no sentimentality in York Shin City.

It was the longest night of his entire life. Eventually the sounds of the intruders died away, and the night was filled by nothing by silence and the gentle chirp of crickets. Kurapica lay curled in the bushes, mentally repeated the Kurata Prayer over and over in his head, trying to empty his mind of the what had happened..

_The sun and moon shines on our limbs,  
And the ground moistens our body,  
Giving this body to the wind that blows,  
Thank God for the miracle,  
And the Kuruta territories..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Mighty on the Earth**  
_by aishuu_

* * *

_Part 4_:

He remained hidden for hours, until his own thirst forced him out of hiding. He could see his mother's limp arm lying from the cover of his leaves every time he glanced just a bit to his left. A part of him hoped that somehow another tribe member would come and help him. Maybe someone else had escaped to find aid.

He did not want to be a sole survivor. That was not a life he wanted to live.

Kurapica was in shock, and he knew it. His thinking process was rational and distant, and the fear that had kept him petrified had long since faded into a sick emptiness. There was a chance that the raiders were still around, but he couldn't stay in the bushes much longer. His bladder was threatening to explode, and he was starting to feel faint from lack of food. He needed to take action, or starve to death from cowardice.

He pushed himself out of hiding, his legs numb from being cramped for so long. Kurapica faced toward the forest, away from his mother's body. He knew he would have to look, but wanted to avoid it for as long as possible, to deny that this was _real._ Casually, he took the time to relieve himself, pretending things were normal. After wiping his hands on several leaves, he found he couldn't procrastinate anymore.

He took a deep breath, considering running away and just leaving everything behind, but knew that was a bad idea. He needed to know what had happened. If he was the only survivor, it was his task to make sure he took care of his people. It was his job to make sure they were buried properly. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, turning around to look at his mother where she lay ten feet away.

His mother's face looked almost peaceful - except her eyes had been gouged out.

He finally gave into the terror that had been slowly working at his sanity, screaming at the top of his lungs. His misery rose in pitch, and he could barely breathe as he kept keening. Had he been able to hear himself, he would have been appalled. The world went red again as his eyes turned crimson in sheer terror, but he didn't really process that. If any of the bandits had been around, he would have made easy prey.

He had no idea how long he mourned - his throat was raw and ached, and the screams came out more and more raggedly. Later he would wonder if he'd actually gone insane at that moment. Eventually, his terror spent itself, and he was left panting, trying to gather his shattered thoughts into a plan of action. Every time he started to calm, though, his sight fell on the bloody ruin of his mother.

Strangely, it was a picayune detail that managed to shake him completely out of his shock. One of Zaltana's earrings was missing. The sight calmed him like a splash of ice-water to the face. This was normal theft, not the theft of _her_. It didn't seem like the same kind of violation that the stealing of her eyes was. It got his mind working again.

He knelt down beside her, wishing he could close her ruined eyes, but her killers had not been cautious, and little remained of her eyelids. There wasn't as much blood, and he took it as a mixed blessing that she had at least been really dead, not just unconscious, when they had removed them.

"Mother," he whispered, touching her cheek. It was so cold, he thought, and her skin felt like rubber. With shaking hands, he removed the earring his mother was still wearing. Without thinking about it, he pushed it into the lobe of his own unpierced ear, forcing himself not to wince. He was the only one of the Kurata not to shed blood yesterday, so he had no right to complain. "I won't let them win," he promised her in a voice raspy from screaming. "I'll live for us."

That was what she had wanted. Zaltana had done everything she could to save her child, even sacrificing herself in a desperate gambit to distract the invaders. Amazingly, miraculously, it had worked, and he owed it to her to see her wish was honored.

He hadn't pierced his ear right. He felt the warmth of his own blood slipping down his neck with a detachment. It would heal, he told himself. His mother wouldn't.

He had to take things a step at a time. First, he needed to get some nourishment, and then he would have to take a survey of the village and find any other survivors. Someone else... someone else... there had to be someone else. The cynical part of his mind pointed out it wasn't likely, but he ruthlessly repressed it.

It was hard to leave her body, but the Kurata believed that the spirit returned to the earth, and the shell didn't matter. Tearing the bottom of her shirt, he created a cloth to cover her face, and the terrible damage her attackers had wrought. Mentally he promised that he would return, and see that she was buried.

They were only a few hundred feet from the nearest house - Huyana's - and it was with trepidation that he went toward it to seek the old woman. He had spoken to her at the birth celebration for Helaku as they indulged in the sweet mochi, entering a playful conspiracy.

Her house looked normal, and he found himself knocking although it was ridiculous in light of what had happened. "Huyana?" he called despite that, pushing the door open. "Are you here?"

She was, he found, right in the middle of her main room, clutching a knife. Her eyes, too, were gone. He stared at her body for a long moment, then left. Rage was beginning to course through his body, and his trembles were coming from anger. Anger was safer than sorrow.

One by one, he found them. Motega, holding a sword which hadn't managed to defend him; Olathe, lying on her back in bed, most likely one of the first killed; Kurak, pinned through the heart and tacked to the wall of his home with some kind of acupuncture needle... all of them. Elu's blades at least bore the sign of some kind of fight, with blood drying on the edge, but his attacker had still won.

They had even killed Helaku, a babe not yet a month old.

The deaths were all different, with only the absence of eyes explaining their purpose. All of the people appeared to have been awake when they were attacked, probably to make sure their eyes had been glowing red with panic.

Kurapica felt his eyes blazing, giving him a strange calm that allowed him to think more clearly. He could guess why this had happened. The tribe's eyes were legendary, collectors would want their eyes, no matter how they were achieved. It was one of the main reason's for the tribe's xenophobia, and apparently it had been a wise concern.

He found his father's body in the center of the village with a small group of Kurata, a hoe clutched in his hand. He had tried to fight back, but Anoke had been a musician. He hadn't stood a chance against his attackers.

Methodically, Kurapica went through all the houses, locating the others. Wyome and his family - eight total, the eight that had taken to the ships - were the only ones he didn't find, but he couldn't find it in himself to hope. The people who had gone after them were strong, and while he knew his tribe was trained as fighters, they weren't killers. Their ancestors may have been, but the Kurata's pride in their sword skill was laid bare to the truth: they were an agricultural people, unable to protect their own.

He was starting to feel weak from hunger, although he didn't want to eat. Starving himself, though, wouldn't help, he reminded himself, before going to his home to find a meal.

The house was too quiet as he opened the door. Just a few hours before, he'd been practicing with his father as his mother had packed up the mochi for the celebration. Now they were gone, and he knew he was in shock.

He forced some bread down his throat, knowing it was a good source of energy. He would need it, if he was to do what was necessary. Berries, just recently harvested, were surprisingly sweet on his tongue. They were a favorite of his, and he felt guilty that he could still enjoy them.

Shutting his eyes, he pretended for a moment that his parents were outside performing chores, and that the village was continuing its normal business. He tried to imagine the people as he'd known them, not the corpses that had been left behind, but the memory of the bloody holes that marked where their eyes had been haunted him.

He couldn't keep the charade up, the memory of his mother's savaged face coming unbidden into his mind. Dry sobs shook his body again, and he gasped for breath, trying to figure out what to do now.

Take things a step at a time, he told himself. He was too tired, both physically and emotionally, to make a rational decision. First he needed to rest, then he could plan what to do... and how to get even. He was only a child, but those who had killed his tribe would regret that they'd ever heard of the Kurata, he swore.

He started to head to his own room, but his footsteps faltered as he stared at his bed, its blankets strewn where he'd pushed them aside when Zaltana had arrived. Without conscious thought, he turned around to his parents' room.

Kuapica hadn't slept in with his parents for almost ten years, but he needed the comfort of their presence. He climbed into the bed, wrapping his hands around the pillow his mother had used. It still carried the scent of herbs she used to wash her hair.

Tears threatened again, but his fatigue dragged him down into sleep. Luckily, he had no dreams.

* * *

He awoke early the next morning, the light slanting gently across the bed. He'd forgotten to pull the drapes, and he had to shake the disorientation of waking in a different place. The memories came flooding back, and he held his hands over his face, telling himself that he needed to calm down.

He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to enter _kotoo'êstse _. He'd never used it before in ordinary life, but right now he needed to divorce his emotions from his actions.

He didn't need to think as he mechanically rose to his feet, and took the first step of the day. He washed, dressed himself in his oldest clothes and ate a light breakfast of slightly stale bread and mushy strawberries before turning to the door.

He went out to bury the dead.

He buried them where they fell, digging shallow graves with a shovel he didn't remember retrieving. The ones that died inside, he buried by their doorways. By early afternoon, his hands were blistered, but he didn't feel the pain. He worked until the sun had long since fled the sky, not even pausing for lunch.

He got used to shoving the bodies into the ground, mentally blocking out images of what these people had been to him while living. He wasn't moving Olathe or Kurak or any of the hundred people who had been his friends. He was merely performing a necessary chore, the final task his people had bequeathed to him.

He paused to rest only twice, retreating to the nearest dwelling and stealing a bed. The days blurred together, and he never knew how long that task took him, except that by the time he buried the last body, rigor mortis had long since passed, and there was a definite stench in the air.

Finally he planted the last tree over the site of the Motega's grave. The Kurata believed their bodies went back to nature, and eschewed stone memorials. Kurapica stood at the foot of the grave, and his mind went utterly blank about what to do next.

Kurapica had never given the course of his life any particular thought, assuming that he would go on his _eamemeohe_ before taking his place in the tribe. Since birth, he had been the child of the village tale singer, destined to take Anoke's place as the one who kept the history records. It was an honorable position, and that was enough.

Now his tribe was gone, and he was alone. He couldn't stay here, not alone among the ghosts of his people. He couldn't let these people, these Genei Ryodan, defeat the spirit of the Kurata.

He needed to get even. He didn't know how to do that, but the blood of his ancestors, those mighty Kurata that had been warriors, roused within him. They destroyed what he held dear; it was his duty to take whatever they cherished in return.

He felt guilty as he went through the houses of his people, gathering items he would need. They has no use for their possessions any more, and their ghosts would share gladly to make sure he survived. His clan's murderers - _Genrei Ryodan_, a small part of his mind whispered - hadn't looted them. The only thing they had taken was their eyes - _and their pride and future._

Becoming a vigilante wasn't a role he was cut out for, he recognized. Elu, who had been the tribe's best, should have been the one left to take revenge. Olathe, who had loved life so much, might have been able to overbearing grief and create something good from it. Even Motega, who had dreamed of never coming back to the clan, would have suited to continue on alone better than Kurapica. Kurapica knew himself well; he was just a bookworm, one with mediocre sword abilities and a tendency toward introversion. He was not the best among his tribe, but he would have to make due.

The last place he stopped was his own home. He carefully wrapped the three books in a cloth, including them in his pack. A couple changes of clothing, and the jewelry his mother had made. His ear was tender from where he had pierced it, but the pain served as a minor irritation that kept him grounded.

He found the swords where he had left them, hung by the foot of his bed. He hadn't had a chance to grab them when his mother shook him from his sleep, and now they stood in mute accusation, since he hadn't fought, only hid. He would not back away again; he would not let anyone else die so he could live.

It was nearly dawn by the time he finished preparations, and though he was exhausted, he intended to be on his way at the start of day. He sat at the front of the house, waiting for sunrise so he could perform. For one last time, a Kurata would welcome the sun with song in Rukuso Valley.

His voice was good, but it lacked the resounding depth of his father's tenor as he sang. He shut his eyes, concentrating on making sure he was enunciating clearly; this would serve as a death song for his people.

As the sky lightened, he took a breath, waiting until he saw the edge of the sun on the horizon. It was his duty to perform his best, and he thought of the way his people had lived, knowing their place in the world and being content with it. He sang, on key and better than he ever had before, offering a prayer to whatever was listening. It was a splendid performance, but there was no one to hear it.

_Wishing for everlasting peace in our souls,  
I desire to share happiness with my people,  
And desire to share their sadness._

Kurapica planned to never sing it again. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Mighty on the Earth**

_by aishuu_

* * *

_Part 5_: 

It was a week on foot to the nearest town. He knew that it was to the west, since that was the way Takota always arrived from. If he was lucky, he would find the old man there. If not... well, he'd find Takota somehow. He was the only person left alive that Kurapica could call a friend.

The town was called Rondon, and it was larger than anything Kurapica had ever imagined. It was pushing twilight, and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on. Had he not been so shell-shocked, he would have paused in wonder at his surroundings. Instead, he pushed on, looking for some kind of official place that would be able to provide him guidance.

He didn't know what he was going to do. This world was alien to him, and there might be others out there, looking for the scattered remains of his tribe. Keep calm, he told himself. Let no one see the color of his eyes in anger.

The buildings were taller than he was used to, and the streets were paved. He hadn't gone through the Kurata's course on traveling in the outside world, so all he had to draw on was information in the books Takota had brought him. Large towns did not have village elders to discipline their people; in large towns, people did not all know each other.

He was all-too-aware of the attention he was drawing. Kurata tended to seem young, and their clothing styles were very different than most cultures preferred. He didn't realize that his delicate features and unusual coloring were the cause of most of the stares, some more lascivious than was deserved by a twelve-year-old.

He walked confidently, making sure his body posture said he was capable of looking after himself. The swords he wore on his hips were unusual as well, but he wanted to appear in control. He had heard that people grabbed unaccompanied children and sold them, and he didn't want to try his luck.

He wondered if Rondon was large enough to have its own police force. He was about to stop a passer-by and take his chance asking for directions, but the sight of a brick building with a sign proclaiming it the police station got his attention. He took a deep breath to find his resolve before he climbed the twelve stairs to the door, opened it and proceeded in.

It was an old room, shabby but well-loved. Faded wanted posters were hung next to out of date calenders. The permanent scent of coffee inundated the place, and he crinkled his nose involuntarily at the stale air, laden with ancient smoke from old cigarettes.

An older, grizzled-looking veteran sat inside. He was smoking a thick cigar, and his feet were up on his desk as he worked on a book of crossword puzzles. He looked up at the sound of Kurapica's footsteps. The man evaluated Kurapica's worn and unusual appearance with a single, curious look, and he settled his feet back to the floor.

"Did you lose your parents, kid?" the police officer asked, his voice gentle.

He had a kind face, Kurapica thought, and since he needed to tell someone, he opened his mouth to explain. The words came out wrong. "They're dead," he said.

The officer regarded him with pity. "How about your guardians?" Surprisingly sharp eyes considered Kurapica's outfit, and drew an obvious conclusion, that Kurapica wasn't a local. "Where are you from?" he asked, correcting himself.

"Rukuso Valley," he said. It was risky to introduce himself, but something he had to do if he ever wanted to catch his tribe's murderers. "I am Kurapica of the Kurata tribe."

The man inhaled slightly, his face losing a bit of blood. "The Kurata don't let their children out of the village," he said, trying to refute Kurapica's claims. "You don't look like you're old enough to be on your own."

"My tribe was slaughtered nearly two weeks ago," Kurapica said. He felt like he was discussing the weather, not the fate his tribe had met. The anger had faded into blessed numbness, but he realized that his rage was only sleeping, not forgotten.

The man jerked upright. "Are you serious?" he asked, and his tone conveyed urgency. Kurapica couldn't understand why; it wasn't like this man could help them get revenge. Only Kurapica could do what needed to be done, and he had the patience to wait.

"I buried them." He stared down at his tired hands, remembering the feel of the dead weight of his friends and family in them. The scratches he'd incurred from all the heavy work were healing, but still marred the otherwise perfect skin.

"What?" The man looked even more shocked.

"None of you would have known the appropriate rituals." It was a simple answer, one which would hopefully explain things without requiring Kurapika to elaborate.

"Kid... Kurapica..." The police officer seemed at a loss for words. He clearly wanted to offer comfort, but Kurapica's demeanor did not encourage it. Taking a deep breath, the man shut his eyes for a long moment before opening them again. This time, they were calmer, his natural concern replaced by professionalism. "Let me get my commanding officer, and then you can tell the full story."

The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Kurapica repeating the story over and over - first for the commanding officer, then for the mayor, and finally for the entire police squad. The words came out of his mouth easily as a song, rote repetition making his voice fall into a cadence.

As the light from the window dwindled to nothing, a switch was flicked, and an over-head lamp provided illumination using the electricity he'd always heard about. He tried not to shudder at how alien this was from his village, but a bit of his apprehension must have shown, because the police officer he met first - Kushou - looked at the mayor and shook his head slightly. "It's getting late, we should wrap this up," he said. "The kid needs to eat."

Kurapica had forgotten he hadn't eaten since arriving in Rondon. The mayor accepted this with a nod of agreement. "Kurapica, we have some places for orphans to stay. From there, we can make a plan on what would be best for you."

Kurapica shook his head, denying the offer. He didn't want to end up in some kind of system for orphans, unable to make his own choices. "I have a friend who I would like to speak to. His name is Takota, and he is a merchant."

"Do you know where he lives?" the mayor asked reasonably.

Kurapica mutely shook his head. "I'm going to find him, and see what advice he offers."

"You should hire a Hunter to find him for you," Kushou said, although not unkindly. "They'd do it the quickest."

He'd read tales of the remarkable people who devoted their lives to searching for various items and people. They were strong and respected, and even the Kurata had offered them hearth welcoming, on the rare occasions one would pass through the village. He remembered seeing one three years before, a slender man with a quick sense of humor and a strong arm. He'd helped their hunters bring in food for the winter, in return for a week of shelter.

"Where would I go to do that?" he asked.

"There's a Hunter's office branch in town. If you need, I can take you there tomorrow," Kushou said. He glanced at the mayor, looking for confirmation, which was delivered with a quick nod.

Kurapica would have liked to decline the guide, but he was new to this world and such pride would be foolish. "I thank you," he said, inclining his head. The two older men exchanged a look, but were unable to say anything else. The knowledge of the tragedy was just starting to sink in; there would be economic repercussions for Rondon, which valued the unique items the Kurata tribe produced. Not to mention the fear the general populace might feel, knowing that an entire village could be wiped out in less than an hour.

Kushou was kind, offering to help Kurapica find a place to rest for the night. It wasn't a hotel, so much as a small bed and breakfast that was on the wrong side of old. Still, the sheets were clean and the landlady was discrete, promising to not mention his presence to anyone who might ask.

That night, he dreamed of his people, happily living their lives. His mother turned and smiled at him, brushing his hair with affection as she teased him about how her little boy was all grown up. He dreamed of Olathe, telling him she was going to marry Motega, and asking him to stand beside her at the wedding. He could hear his father's voice, lifted in one of the mourning songs as Kurak smirked at him, asking if he was willing to take his _eamemeohe_ early. He had no voice to answer any of their queries, but they all acted as though it was a foregone conclusion that he would accept their demands.

He saw all of them, and their eyes glowed at him with crimson, and they asked him if he would remember them. Some wept, but their tears were the same color as blood, falling like liquid rubies to the ground at their feet. Then Elu stepped forward, holding out the matched swords he had given Kurapica.

"Will you fight for us?" he asked.

Kurapica still couldn't speak, but that didn't prevent him from reaching out to take the weapons. He could feel all of them watching as he secured the swords to the inside of his shirt. When he woke up the next morning, he was exhausted, but his face was dry of tears.

He ended up hiring a relatively young hunter named Kaname to help him. She was barely in her twenties, a silent, red-haired woman with sharp green eyes. It only took her two days to locate Takota. He was in Madlid, a city located not too far from Rondon. Apparently that was where he had retired. Kurapica offered her a piece of his mother's jewelry in payment, which she had accepted graciously. Kurata crafts were prime trade goods now, since there would be no more.

"I took the liberty of asking him to come here," she said. "I think it would be wiser than having you travel. He should arrive tomorrow." It was the longest statement she had made since they'd met.

Kurapica offered his thanks again, and she left. It left him with a full day to himself. At loose ends, he wandered the streets of Rondon, trying to find something to do. Most people ignored him, and he felt more alone than ever. If he'd been in his village, the people would have called greetings or asked for help. He truly was anonymous in this outside world.

He discovered the town's public library. His mother had told him about the concept, explaining she'd encountered several on her _eamemeohe_. She'd never actually gone inside one – she possessed the tribe's customary indifference to reading – but she knew what they were. It sounded wonderful to him, the idea that books were gathered for people to share.

He entered the building tentatively, and walked into a place that would have been his fondness dream a month ago. Now he'd trade all the books in the world, just to spend another day with his people.

From floor to the ceiling, books were arranged on shelves. The room was bigger than _Mâheo'o _, and he realized how truly out of his depths he was. Machines glowing with a soft light – he guessed they were computers that Elu spoke of on his return – sat waiting for use. He considered trying one out, but decided that there could be a more productive use of his time.

Kurapica went to speak to the woman sitting behind a desk. She was in her late fifties and wore dull colors, but her eyes were bright with intelligence. "Can I help you, young man?" she asked, adjusting the pair of glasses she wore on her nose.

"How do I go about finding something?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound scared or overwhelmed."

"Do you have a topic in mind?" The woman's voice was a touch softer.

"I want to research an outlaw band. Can I do that here?"

"Certainly," the woman answered. "Are you familiar with the internet?"

He shook his head negatively. "I prefer books."

That made her laugh. "That's unusual, most boys your age..." Her eyes focused on his mode of dress, and then she gasped, pressing her hand against her lips as she recognized him. "Oh. _Oh,_" she said. "Kurata. Yes, I know what you're looking for." She rose to her feet, and gestured for him to follow her. "I'm sorry for your loss, Kurata-san."

He wondered how far his story had spread, if this stranger could identify him. If she knew who he was, it was possible that the Spiders would hear rumors of his survival. He knew that would annoy them, since they were the type to be thorough. Rather than fear that threat, he found a part of himself eager. He hoped they'd come back. When they did, he would be ready for them.

"Thank you," he replied, nodding his head. He didn't know what the proper way to address her; outsiders put more value on formality than his tribe had. They only had one name each, unlike the outsiders who had two.

She wove through the shelves with the grace a spider uses while creating a web. After the third turn, Kurapica felt thoroughly lost, but at least she seemed to know where she was going. He was just starting to wonder if they'd get lost forever in the stacks when she stopped abruptly, almost causing him to run into her.

She was short enough that he came up to her shoulder. She was the first person he'd met since leaving the village that didn't tower above him. "This is a year old so it's a little out of date, but it should help you," she said.

She pulled a blue hardcover off the shelf, handing it to him. "If you want to borrow it, we can get you a library card."

As soon as he saw the title, he nodded. "Yes. Yes I would."

He went back to his lodging, trying to move at a sedate pace when all he wanted to do was immediately sit down and read the thin volume he'd "checked out." After turning down an offer of cookies and milk from the landlady, he found a comfortable perch on a window seat in his room. Even though there was electricity available, he preferred to read by sunlight.

_The Genei Ryodan of Ryuusaigan_ was a brief, rather sensationalist chronicle of a group of rogues that was comprised of thieves, killers and mercenaries. The author hadn't been able to get much factual information on the group – only on the destruction they left behind them. According to the book, there was only thirteen individuals, but each of them was strong enough to bring down an army alone.

Unlike usual, he didn't bother to savor the reading of this book. He read quickly, his memory burning every detail into his mind. He saw a sketch of a spider with a number at its center, and his heartbeat quickened, and he starting to gasp for breath.

Until this moment, seeing the words in front of him in black and white, he hadn't been truly able to believe in the people that had destroyed his tribe could be _real_. Masscacreing the whole Kurata tribe without taking a single casualty was unbelievable; maybe a part of him had hoped that the massacre had just been a nightmare, and he was still dreaming.

He wished he hadn't been such a coward. A part of him wished he'd died with his family.

The light from the window started to dim, but Kurapica only noticed when he had to start squinting to read the pages. His landlady knocked on the door a half an hour later, only to find him slumped in sleep against the window, the stress of the last few days taking their toll.

The next morning, Kurapica sat in front of the police station, politely declining the occasional offer of companionship. The police officers were concerned about him and kept dropping by, asking if he'd like a snack or wanted to talk. He refused all their requests politely, burying his head in the book as he reread it.

It wasn't until the middle of the afternoon that the hum of an engine jerked Kurapica's attention from his reverie. Glancing up, he watched as Takota came into sight. He set the book aside, rising to his feet and staring as the trader pulled to a stop.

Takota didn't look older than Kurapika remembered, but he did look different. There were no horses with him; instead, he straddled an impressive motorcycle, wearing a sleek black helmet that was polished to a high shine, bearing a series of XX's on it that made something in the back of Kurapica's mind ping in recognition. The XX's were like the ones on the back of the card Kaname had produced to prove her identity.

The man pulled to a stop in front on him, and lifted the visor on his helmut. His face took on a troubled look. "Kurapica?" the man said. "What are you doing here? I had a message that a Kurata lad was looking for me, but I assumed it would be Elu..."

Kurapica was trying to reconcile this man with the merchant whom had always visited his tribe. This man looked like he belonged to the outside world, not the trader who had once been a friend to his people. Had he been an idiot to seek him out? What if Takota had sold information to the Genei Ryodan to help in the attack? What if...

Taking a deep breath, he looked directly into the old man's eyes. Takota's eyes were what decided him. They were kind and concerned. Kurapica decided he had to trust someone.

"We were attacked, and everyone was killed," Kurapica said, proud that he spoke without his voice breaking.

Takota took a surprised, deep breath. Kurapica was startled to see tears start to flow silently down the old man's cheeks. The man slid off the motorcycle quickly, and before Kurapica realized what was happening, he was wrapped in a warm embrace.

"My poor, poor child," Takota said, and his hand rubbed Kurapica's back reassuringly.

Had Kurapica not already cried himself out several times, he would have probably broken down due to the man's compassion. Instead he wrapped his arms around Takota's back, savoring the warmth of another person who cared about him. The man smelled like petrol and pine, the scent of a man who traveled many roads. He savored the warmth of a human who cared for him, then pulled himself together.

"I just... thought you should know," Kurapica said, pulling back. He didn't know what he wanted from Takota, but he was the only person who knew Kurapika's people and had cared for them.

Takota was wise, and only asked one question. "What are you going to do, boy?"

There were so many answers he could have made. He decided to tell the truth. "I'm going to kill them, and get my tribe's eyes back," he said softly. "My people can't rest until I reclaim what was taken."

Rather than condemn Kurapika for his bloody agenda, Takota thought carefully before speaking. "I'll take care of you, Kurapica," Takota offered.

Kurapika opened his mouth to protest that he didn't need a guadian, but Takota held up a hand to stop him.

"I was an information hunter," Takota said. He flashed a red card quickly in Kurapica's line of sight. "I wanted to know everything about the world, and becoming a merchant worked well. I got to travel all over, and I met many wonderful people, including your tribe.

"If you really want to hunt down an enemy strong enough to kill all of the Kurata, you're going to need resources and training. You're going to need to become a Hunter. There's all kinds of hunters, but I think you'd want to look into becoming a Blacklist Hunter."

"A Blacklist Hunter," Kurapika echoed.

"It will give you the power to seek your enemies," Takota said. "But you should know that it's a brutal, nasty path. Blacklist Hunters see the worst of humanity, and seldom die of old age. Once you kill a man, there will be no going back."

"The decision was made for me already, Takota," Kurapica said.

Takota went over to his motorcycle, lifting the seat and retreiving a spare helmet, which he tossed to Kurapica. The last of the Kurata caught it, staring at the older man. "Get your things, then," Takota said. "If this is the road you want to take, I will help you pursue it."

In the stories, people always rode off into the sunset after a story had been completed. Perhaps Kurapika had ended one chapter of his life, but that didn't mean he was finished. He would find vengeance for his people, since there was nothing else he could offer them.

As long as he lived, the Kurata would exist.

_Sun in the sky, trees on the ground.  
Our bodies created from the earth.  
Our souls from the heavens.  
The sun and moon shines on our limbs,  
And the ground moistens our body,  
Giving this body to the wind that blows,  
Thank God for the miracle,  
And the Kuruta territories.  
Wishing for everlasting peace in our souls,  
I desire to share happiness with my people,  
And desire to share their sadness.  
God, please praise eternally,  
The Kuruta people.  
Let us use our Scarlet Eyes._


End file.
